


Velchaubin? or was it Chaumouchin?

by lirin



Category: Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/pseuds/lirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did M. Chambertin end up here for tea, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Velchaubin? or was it Chaumouchin?

“More tea, m’dear?” Percy asked, lifting the teapot.

“Yes, dear, thank you,” said Marguerite. She set down her teacup so he could pour the tea. “Leave plenty of room for cream and sugar, please.”

“It’s nice to be home with you,” said Percy. He poured the cream into her cup with his right hand, while wrapping his other arm around her shoulders.

“I’m so glad you had time to come back for Christmas,” Marguerite said, dropping three sugar cubes in her cup. She stirred it gracefully, then took a sip. “Aren’t you going to offer M. Chauvelin any tea?”

“No, I don’t think...Chauvelin? Where?”

Marguerite waved her hand at a chair closer to the fireplace. Sure enough, the annoying sable-clad Frenchman was sitting there, reading a book. Percy frowned in confusion. “How did you get in here?” he asked.

“I climbed over the fence and then broke a window in the scullery, of course,” Chauvelin replied. Or was it Chambertin? Percy couldn’t quite remember his name. But he did know that this window-breaking business was a bunch of nonsense. There were so many better ways to enter Blakeney Manor.

“Would you like cream and sugar, monsieur?” Marguerite asked.

“No thank you, I prefer black,” M. … Chavertin? replied.

Percy could control his confusion no longer. “Why did you come in the window when you could have just climbed up to the roof and slid down the chimney?” he asked.

Their visitor looked at him as if he were out of his mind. “Chimneys have soot! I couldn’t go down the chimney, it would soil my clothes.”

“But you’re wearing black,” Percy said. “It wouldn’t show.”

There were twin gasps of horror from the two other people in the room. “But my cravat! My dear Sir Percy, have you forgotten that a cravat must be pure white and perfectly starched? Sliding down the chimney would have ruined it!”

How could he have forgotten? Of course a cravat was white. “Quite right, M. Velchaubin. I’m glad you didn’t damage your cravat.”

Velchaubin (or was it Chaumouchin?) bowed. “It would have been such a dreadful waste, after I tied it so perfectly this morning. Look at the left side of the collar, Sir Percy. See right here? Isn’t it perfect?”

Percy stared in admiration. “How could you tie your cravat so perfectly without even using a pin, M. Citoyvelin? You have no need of further instruction in cravat tying: you are the cravat master now.”

Chauchauvelchosevelin—what _was_ his name?—bowed. “Thank you, Sir Percy. I have tried for years to tie a cravat well enough to please you. I am honored that you finally think I am worthy. Will you tie my cravat for me one last time so that I can experience true perfection?”

While Percy was trying to decide whether he dared to untie the perfect cravat he saw before him, Marguerite touched his shoulder and shook him. “We’ve found breakfast, Percy,” she said. “Dewhurst and the boys sneaked into a henhouse and got fresh eggs!”

“Not now, Marguerite,” Percy replied. “I need to tie Chambertin’s cravat first.”

“Come on, Percy, wake up!” The shaking was becoming harder to ignore. He blinked a few times, then rolled over and sat up. Immediately, Marguerite was gone, Blakeney Manor was gone, Chauvelin (of course! that’s what his name was!) and his magnificent cravat were gone. The velvet couch turned out to be a few pine branches with a cloak thrown over them. What he had thought was Marguerite turned out to be Andrew Ffoulkes, who was nice but not nearly as pretty. The hot tea was gone, replaced by the smell of a small campfire.

“Good morning, Percy,” said Dewhurst, cracking eggs into a battered frying pan.

“Good morning,” the rest of the Leaguers chorused.

Percy reached to grab an apple, but Andrew snatched it away. “Not so fast,” he said. “Before breakfast, you have to explain why you thought I was your wife and why you were tying Chauvelin’s cravat for him.”

Percy grimaced. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”


End file.
